


Constants

by Sierra_Butterfly



Category: iZombie (TV)
Genre: F/M, Pre-Relationship, Witness Protection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2017-11-16
Packaged: 2019-02-03 04:12:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12740772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sierra_Butterfly/pseuds/Sierra_Butterfly
Summary: Ten years ago James Bayor was an acclaimed cult leader; now he was the FBI’s Most Wanted Serial Killer of the decade. Naturally, when Bayor set his sights on an old and dear friend of Liv's, she enlisted Clive's help in investigating the case under the radar. What neither of them had expected was to witness Bayor in action; what the FBI had never expected was finding Liv and Clive alive to tell the tale. Rather than take any chances, the FBI forced them into witness protection until Bayor was apprehended, but their efforts to minimize any undue risks left the detective and his partner in a less than ideal predicament. How will Clive and Liv deal with being confined to a one bedroom apartment fifty miles outside of Seattle? And how will their relationship be forced to change?





	Constants

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Not going to lie, I initially shipped Clive/Liv 100%, but I can appreciate what the series is trying to do by keeping their relationship platonic. Nevertheless, I'm still a fan of the pairing, so here's one of many 'fics to come of it. When I first started this 'fic, I had only watched up to S2E19, but since then I've binged the rest of the series. As a result, I've changed some of the timeline aspects; ultimately, this story ignores the overarching plot line in the iZombie series (as in, no D-Day in season 3). Zombies are still undiscovered, but Clive is fully aware of zombies. This is set roughly six months after S2E19, and several of the cases that we saw in Season 3 are still applicable (including Wally's murder, with the exception that it was not a puzzle piece in the grand scheme of things, merely a tragedy. 
> 
> Ultimately, this story will will be filled with fluff and awkward pre-relationship moments, but later chapters will delve into deeper territory and explore intimacy between Clive and Liv. 
> 
> And with all that said, I hope you all enjoy :) If anyone has any Clive/Liv oneshot requests I am absolutely open to suggestions. The one-shot I am currently working on looks at a confrontation between Dale, Clive, and Liv. 
> 
> Oh, and if you look at the chapter titles, I have the artist and song I was listening to/thinking of while writing the chapter.

**Chapter One**

_Man or a Monster [Sam Tinnesz ft. Zayde Wolf]_

“Olivia Moore, I’m Agent Kinnaird. You’ve been briefed on the situation?” 

Liv pressed her lips together and nodded. 

_A brief glance at the dashboard revealed that it was nearly midnight. The late hour combined with the steady circulation of heat from the unmarked sedan’s heater made it even more difficult to ignore that she and Clive had been up for over twenty-four hours._

__

__

_Out of the corner of her eyes, Liv could see the exhaustion clinging to Clive in the way his shoulders sagged forward ever-so-slightly. Like her, his eyelids drooped a little too much for comfort and dark circles decorated his eyes._

_It probably wouldn’t have been so bad, except they had to work the case when they were off work, particularly since Clive’s Lieutenant had specifically instructed them to stay away from it._

In hindsight, they probably should have listened. 

_“Just give me a bit to finish packing,” she said, gesturing for the brown haired man to step inside her apartment. A part of her thought that the agent might have been attractive if she wasn’t so razzled from the events of the past thirty-six hours._

__

__

_“There he is,” Clive murmured. His voice had acquired a raspy quality to it the longer the evening dragged on, and Liv had to listen a bit harder than usual to make out what he said next, “You have your gun?” he asked._

_But of course she did--she’d been serving as a reserve officer for months now, merely waiting for a part-time position to open up._

_They waited until their dark clothed serial killer entered the abandoned warehouse, and then they got out of the car. “Stay close,” Clive told her as he withdrew his pistol and they began the short trek to the back entrance._

Liv closed the door and locked the deadbolt, seeing no reason to make Agent Kinnaird’s job any more difficult than necessary. With a strained smile, she turned to pad barefoot back to her room. “You’re welcome to the coffee in the kitchen,” she said over her shoulder, more as an afterthought than anything. 

_“The goal is to detain him,” Clive whispered, but when Liv caught his gaze she could see just how anxious he was. The deep brown of his irises was nearly absent with how wide his pupils were blown, and then there was the way his lower lip kept catching on his upper right canine. “But Bayor has killed eleven others; if it’s us or him, be prepared to shoot.”_

__

__

_Liv nodded that she understood, even as her heart beat the faintest bit harder in her chest. The adrenaline pumping through her veins awakened the feral part of her brain--the part that triggered whenever she opened herself up to full-on-zombie mode--but it was a manageable presence. Over the past couple of years, Liv had learned almost perfectly how to control that feral side of her._

_Clive opened the door slowly, quietly, and they slipped in, no more than a few inches between them. Liv caught the door, easing it shut behind them to avoid any excess noise._

_As they crept along the steel shelves filled to the brim with boxes, Liv felt the familiar electricity of excitement jittering across her skin. By now they could hear muted conversation, although based on the singular voice, it seemed rather one-sided._

_“Do you have any last words, Lewis?”_

Shit, not good, _Liv thought, biting the inside of her cheek as they picked up their pace a little, unable to storm in as they may have if it had been any other criminal--a run of the mill criminal that barely managed one murder without getting arrested. But Bayor was no run of the mill criminal; he was the FBI’s most wanted serial killer. Storming in would get them both killed sooner than anything._

__

__

_“Oh wait, the duct tape makes that pretty hard, doesn’t it?” Bayor chuckled. “Well that’s too bad. You might have said something profound for once.”_

_They were close enough to see Bayor’s waxy bald head and the too small leather jacket stretching around his shoulders. Although his back was to them, he was positioned just enough to the side that Clive and Liv had a clear view of his victim, Lewis, strapped to a metal folding chair with duct tape and ample amounts of what appeared to be rock-climbing rope._

_Bayor raised his pistol until it was level with Lewis’ head, and Clive stepped out, his own gun raised as well. On instinct alone, Liv raised hers, but she knew the moment Clive stepped out that she wouldn’t be using it._

_"Seattle PD, lower your gun!”_

_Before either of them could blink, Bayor’s gun went off, and then Liv moved, shoulder slamming into Clive’s at the same moment Bayor’s gun went off a second time._

_She felt the pain sear through her stomach, but she didn’t really process it. She heard Clive yell something, heard another gunshot, and then she gave into the feral part of her--she felt her eyes constrict then widen, the sensation she always felt moments before her eyes flared red--and then she watched with a predatory appreciation as Bayor stumbled back, his own eyes widening._

Once she was back in her room, Liv stared at the empty suitcase and considered what else she should pack. The agent they’d spoken to had suggested packing for up to a month, and the first thing she had done was pack a freezer box with enough brains to last a little longer than that. Since Ravi had developed an intermediate cure, Liv no longer needed to eat human brains daily, but once a week. Most of the time she forgot about that detail since she ate more frequently to get the visions, but now it let her hide that small freezer box beneath clothes and other necessities. 

Beyond the estimated timeline, the agent had been unwilling to provide any additional information. For all Liv knew, they could be sending Clive and her to Alaska--although she supposed the weather would hardly be an issue. There was no question that they would be confined to the safe house--Liv doubted even walking down the driveway would be allowed.

With a sigh, Liv turned back to her dresser drawers and winced as the movement stretched the tender skin of her stomach, courtesy of her latest bullet wound. 

_Absently, Liv was aware of a ringing in her ears and she closed her eyes with a quiet groan, struggling to focus on the chill that seeped from the concrete to the backs of her thighs and the palms of her hands. She didn’t remember falling or sitting down, but here she was._

_“Liv, Liv talk to me.”_

_She took a deep breath and released it slowly before she opened her eyes, and then she recoiled in surprise when she found Clive’s face so close to hers, his brows arched high and eyes wide with fear for her--or perhaps it was fear of her._

__

__

_Clive cursed under his breath, and Liv forced herself to focus on his face and not her surprise at hearing the usually collected detective curse. “The FBI will be here soon,” he said quietly. “Will you be good for a minute?”_

_Liv nodded dazedly, distantly aware that Clive was running out of the warehouse, leaving her to glance down at her stomach. If she were alive, then the shot would have killed her within minutes, either from internal bleeding or the likely puncture in her liver. As it was, there was no question that she would survive. In just a few hours she wouldn’t even feel it, and within twenty-four hours the wound would heal over, leaving a pale, translucent scar._

_Footsteps alerted her to Clive’s return and she looked up with a frown. In the distance she could just make out the sound of sirens. “Take this,” Clive handed her a light, forest green sweatjacket and she shook her head slowly, brows furrowed in confusion._

_“Wh-?” she started to ask, but Clive fixed her with a look before pointedly flicking his attention to her stomach wound, then back to her face. Understanding flooded her mind and Liv nodded slowly. “Oh, right.” She supposed it would be rather difficult to decline medical services if the FBI and police saw physical evidence of a bullet wound._

_With a breath, Liv got to her feet and slipped on the jacket, zipping it up moments before the warehouse door opened and the first group of officers and agents came in._

_Liv noted Clive’s lieutenant leading a small group of officers and she grimaced, exchanging a brief look with Clive. If his lieutenant was here, then they would be lucky to be doing anything but paper duty for the weeks to come._

_“Detective Babineaux, Officer Moore.”_

_They looked up at the same time to find a light haired woman glancing between them. “My name is Claire Anderson; I’m an agent with the FBI. You witnessed Bayor kill Lewis Strong?”_

_“Yes,” Clive said._

_Agent Anderson nodded, then pulled out her phone. “Excuse me, I need to see what my supervisor wants to do with you two.”_

Twenty minutes after the arrival of reinforcements, Clive and Liv were back in the unmarked sedan with instructions to pack a couple bags. They were told to expect an agent to arrive at their respective homes within the hour, and then they were going into witness protection. 

_“This is ridiculous,” Clive muttered on the way to dropping Liv off at her apartment._

__

__

_Liv shrugged. “They’re being careful.”_

_The detective said nothing, reverting back to silently pouting for the remainder of the trip._

Her phone buzzed against her dresser top and Liv snatched it immediately. She expected a text message from Ravi or Peyton asking for more details about this “police training” that she and Clive were going on, but instead she was surprised. 

Clive: _They’re letting me stop by the station. Is your diet covered?_

Liv smiled to herself. 

Liv: _I’m covered._

Clive: _Good._

She started to put the phone down again when it buzzed again in her hand. 

Clive: _Are you sure you’re OK?_

“Ma’am, we really need to get going.” 

Liv glanced up from her phone to find Agent Kinnaird leaning against the doorframe, his brows furrowed as he flicked his attention between the phone in her hands and her face. “Right, sorry,” she said, shooting a quick message back before putting the phone back on her dresser. 

Liv: _Yeah :)_

She barely paid attention to what she grabbed after that, and eventually her second suitcase was filled with clothes, a few paperbacks, and an old iPod that had been faithful over the years. 

“I’m ready,” Liv said, offering what she hoped resembled a smile, but really was closer to a grimace. 

***

Clive attempted to relax on the drive to the safe house, but the tension in the van combined with the irrational urge to pat his pockets, only to confirm once more that he did not have his phone, keys, or wallet--per instructions--had left Clive just as rigid as his companions. It might have helped too if he were not sitting in between two silent agents who seemed to spend every spare moment of time at their nearest gym. 

So when the van finally pulled into a short gravel driveway, there was no hesitance in his movements as he slid out of the seat, merely grateful to have solid ground beneath his feet again. Now if he could collapse into bed, every immediate desire would be fulfilled.

He watched as a couple agents entered the house, and then Clive went to the back of the van to retrieve his suitcase and duffel bag. Moments later he was joined by Liv, the scent of strawberries mixed with his cologne the first thing he noticed as she collected her own suitcases. 

For a moment he considered her out of his peripheral, noting with a bit of surprise that she was still wearing his jacket. He’d figured she would have changed when she got into her apartment, but evidently she had not. Even though he couldn’t see the blood staining her sweater, or any evidence that she’d been shot, he couldn’t help but think about the wound--the wound she wouldn’t even have it she hadn’t shoved him out of the way. 

He was far from an expert on the pros and cons of being a zombie, but he kept wondering if the bullet hadn’t gone through, what did that mean for Liv? Did she just live with a bullet embedded in her stomach? And what about this eventual cure that would turn her human again? How would a bullet affect her then? 

“All clear,” one of the agents called out. 

“I’m surprised they’re not posting someone inside,” Liv said under her breath, smirking conspiratorially as she caught Clive’s gaze. 

He offered a small smirk of his own and suppressed a yawn. Maybe it’s a zombie thing, he thought wearily. She’s been up just as long as me, but she looks like she could keep going for hours. 

Clive spared a cursory glance around the outside of the house, absently noting the panels were a pale blue and the grass was a bright green--artificial if he had to guess. In the dead of Washington winter, there was no chance that real grass would retain that depth of color.

When they went inside, Clive stopped in the doorway, more out of habit than anything, and took a moment to consider their temporary home. 

_Did a frat boy design this?_ Was Clive’s first thought, followed by, _Is that a pool table?_

Sure enough, straight ahead, to the back of the L-shaped living area, sat a pool table, balls already racked up while pool cues and chalk waited on a wooden wall display. Directly beneath the display was what he could only assume was a bar cabinet, and in the back of his mind he wondered if it was stocked. 

At the far wall, Clive found another door and window, revealing what looked to be a back porch. To the left of the makeshift game room was a doorway he assumed led to a bedroom, while opposite of it was another doorway that led to a bathroom. 

Aside from those two rooms, the house seemed to be oriented around a very open floorplan, with another subsection of the living room boasting a large screen television, black suede couch and matching recliner, and a metallic coffee table. Clive was surprised to see three bookcases to the left of the entertainment center, and from a distance it seemed most of the shelves were filled with actual books, not just video games or movies. 

The kitchen was adjacent to the living room and was considerably smaller than the living room, yet it seemed to have no shortage of counter space--it also bolstered the second window that Clive could see. 

Out of the corner of his eyes he saw Liv leaving the bedroom, walking towards him. Electing to explore the specifics of the house tomorrow, Clive considered the amused quirk of Liv’s lips curiously.

“You still awake?” Liv joked, taking the duffel bag from his hand which prompted him to robotically follow her to the bedroom. Probably two beds, a distant part of his mind supplied, except when he reached the doorway of the bedroom he found Liv sitting on the edge of a king sized bed, digging through one of her suitcases and pulling out clothes to change into. 

He froze, a split jolt of surprise electrifying his senses, managing to instill a bit of energy into his muscles. “I’ll take the couch,” he said immediately, starting to back up. 

Vaguely, he was aware of Liv watching him and he flicked his gaze to hers warily, only to find her rolling her eyes at him. “Clive, it’s a king sized bed. I think we both fit.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but words escaped him. His sleep deprived brain was incapable of developing an argument. That’s not right, he thought, but at the same time he was unable to come up with a reason for why it wasn’t right. 

“I promise I don’t bite,” she teased, but whatever she saw in Clive’s face made her add, “Besides, it’s more practical. Agent Anderson said we may be here for a month or more; I don’t think either of us want to take turns sleeping on the couch.” 

Still, a part of Clive was reluctant. 

“Plus, it’s not like either of us are dating anyone.” 

His resolve cracked slightly as he sagged against the doorframe and averted his gaze. He needed to think, but his head was being uncooperative, far too hung up on sleeping next to Liv than was reasonable. And then Liv kept talking, perhaps recognizing the falter in his argument as a chance to press her advantage. 

“I’m not even that cuddly of a person,” she went on, untying her boots and slipping them off with a quiet sigh. “You won’t even know--”

“Fine,” Clive said on a breath, but he couldn’t quite drag his gaze from the floor as he wandered to the other side of the bed, sitting down almost tentatively, like the bed was just as likely to bite him as Liv. 

He heard Liv get up a moment later, but he couldn’t find the energy to say anything yet. “I need a shower,” she said with a yawn. “Do you-?” 

“Go ahead,” Clive told her, barely recognizing his own voice. It had been a long time since he’d stayed up for over thirty-six hours, and he didn’t like the way his brain was permanently stuck in this sluggish mode. 

She hesitated, and Clive closed his eyes wearily, silently hoping she would leave him alone with his thoughts as the confusion slowly drained from his system and stronger emotions rolled through, like panic and fear. 

“Clive?” Liv said softly, but he held his tongue, knowing that eventually Liv would understand he just needed to be alone for a minute, and sure enough she did. 

He waited until the bathroom door closed and he heard the shower turn on before he relaxed, lying back with a sigh. His head hurt, a dull throb behind his eyes as he stared at the ceiling. If he were honest with himself, he didn’t care about sharing the bed. He didn’t care that the FBI had stuck them in a house in the middle of nowhere. Hell, if he were on protection detail, he would have done the same--the house part, not necessarily the bed part. It was easier guarding one place rather than two, and keeping their witnesses together made everyone’s life easier. What he couldn’t wrap his head around, was why the FBI had put them in this house in particular. Somewhere along the way someone had made an assumption about the extent of the relationship between him and Liv, and for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why.

Not that he [i]really[/i] cared.

But what he did care about was that he had done too good of a job keeping his personal life to  
himself, and now he was trapped in a one bedroom house with Liv for the next week at the least, but he  
would guess they would keep them isolated for far longer. What he cared about was that he was out of his sleeping aid, and without it, his sleep would undoubtedly be filled with nightmares. And if he woke up panicked in the middle of the night, Liv would want to help—that woman always wanted to help, but there was nothing she could do, and he would be compelled to tell her what kept him up at night. 

That same feeling that compelled him to let the blonde haired woman into his life, could wind up costing him one of the few constants in his life—and yet he huffed a sound bordering on a laugh. The idea that Liv was a constant in his life was probably a sign that he was doing something wrong; the woman’s personality changed from one day to the next depending on whose brain she had eaten most recently, and yet since Ravi had given her an intermediate cure, those days were few and far between. She’d said once that she only needed to eat brains once a week now, and even then the quantity was so little that she barely felt the effects. She’d admitted that the only reason she ate more frequently was so she’d get the visions and be able to help with the investigations.

Clive heard the shower stop and he sighed.

But it was more than the nightmares. It was that she was bound to see his back, and being a medical examiner, there was no doubt that Liv would know what the scars from one of his earlier undercover cases came from, and that was a whole can of worms he had zero interest in discussing with her. 

He heard the bathroom door open, and moments later Liv walked in wearing a pair of short, cotton  
pajama shorts and a loose fitting tank top. 

He told himself it was the exhaustion that left him considering her body and attire for a few moments too long before he sat up and closed his eyes again. He tried to tell himself it wasn’t because he was attracted to her, because if he admitted that to himself, even sleep deprived he wouldn’t feel right claiming he was being practical in sharing a bed with her. 

“The shower’s yours if you want it,” Liv said, and when he opened his eyes he found her  
watching him with a soft smile. The soft smile that warmed his heart and left him aching to open  
up.

Yeah, these next few days were going to be hell for him—sweet, tempting hell.

***

Twenty minutes later Clive left the shower, his skin tingling slightly from how hot he’d set the water temperature. He forced himself to walk into the bedroom, and then relaxed immediately when he found Liv was already asleep, curled up in a small ball under the covers. 

He hoped that exhaustion would drag him under quickly despite his stubborn decision to don cotton sleep pants and a t-shirt, and for once, his hope for going to sleep quickly was answered.


End file.
